


Outgunned

by angelicaschuyler



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Gun Violence, M/M, QPQVerse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6381889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It sounds like a firecracker. Then another, and another. George’s entire body goes numb, like ice has replaced the blood in his veins. Can’t even process where it’s coming from. Then, two of the agents spring forward at once, and one shoves him down - hard. He grabs hold of Alex on instinct, dragging his boy to the ground with him. But he falls harder than intended - can almost feel the breath knocked out of Alex’s lungs when he lands on top of him. Knows he hears the sharp crack when the back of Alex’s head bounces off the concrete like a basketball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outgunned

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to [rillrill](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill) for letting us ride on her coattails. This is part of the [Quid Pro Quo](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5880157) verse, but can be read independently. 

So, they’re in a fight.

It’s frustrating, because it’s not the kind of fight where anyone’s at fault. It’s just…what it is.

It’s because of the damned Easter Egg Roll. Alex is watching George out on the front lawn, all smiles and eye crinkles, helping some of the younger children and making Alex feel weak. Making him wonder what life would’ve been like if they had a typical relationship where George was closer to his age, a couple kids of their own … but no, if he follows this train of thought he won’t be able to pull himself out of it. No use dwelling on what can’t be.

He and Martha bump hips accidentally and then it’s all laughter and more smiling and George pulling her in for a kiss, all the cameras flying up in sync. The stoic George Washington embracing his beautiful wife - the tabloids will be dripping with it tomorrow. They’ll slap the photo on their front pages, use the event as yet another excuse to speculate on why the President doesn’t have children of his own.

Alex loves Martha - knows the whole charade is just as difficult for her. She’s like family to him. He knows the pang of jealousy he feels low in his gut is totally, completely unfair. He can’t help it, though. Can’t help how he feels when it’s been over a month since he and George have been alone together outside of one-on-one meetings. And, well, the Secret Service are always around, always lingering outside of doors. Alex knows they know. It’s been six years. How could they not?

“It’s nothing,” Alex lies when they’re alone in the Oval Office, after the Egg Roll. George had read his face like an open book. Asked to see him - _“Mr. Hamilton, a word?”_ Always formal, always careful. And Alex has to admit that’s kind of sweet - that George would take the time to check on him when he has a dozen other issues on his plate.

“It’s something,” George counters, sitting down heavily on one of the beige couches. Alex remains standing.

“It’s stupid,” he shrugs, crossing the room, leaning back against George’s desk in a way that feels like a memory. “I’d really prefer not to - ”

“It was Martha, wasn’t it?”

Alex hesitates. Nods. “You know it’s not really her, though. I’m with you every day but it never feels like enough.”

George frowns, looks down at his black leather shoes. They’ve talked about this before - how it’s not secret and sneaky in a good way anymore. How Alex is in his thirties now, at a time in his life where he longs for a little more stability, security. Wants to come home to the man he loves every night.

“We have two more years of this,” George says, breaking the silence. “What we’ve talked about still stands. I don’t want you to leave, Alex, but I also want what’s best for you. And if we need a break, if you want to come back once my term is over - ”

“What difference would it make if it doesn’t even feel like we’re together most days?” Alex says, hating that he’s just put what he’s feeling into words. Hates the way it makes George’s entire body seem to slump - defeated.

Alex pushes himself off the desk, bows his head and makes a beeline for the door. Needs to leave before he says anything he’ll regret. George stands just as he passes the couch - grabs him by the wrist and twists him around.

Alex tries to push back. He doesn’t want to be touched right now. But then George is just…hugging him. Chin resting on top of his head, humming softly, wide hands rubbing circles into his back. He can’t help but sink into it - realizes it’s been so long since George has just held him like this. Realizes he needs this more than a kiss - needs it more than a fuck over the armrest of one of these stupid beige couches he’s learned to hate.

“I want some time to think,” Alex says once he pulls away, reluctant, squeezing George’s hand. George just nods, says nothing in a way Alex is used to these days.

 

* * *

 

So, they were in a fight.

George reads the eulogy at Hugh Mercer’s funeral a week later. Almost steps up to the podium without his flag pinned to his lapel when Alex grabs his elbow, pulls him back.

“Mr. President, your pin,” Alex says, tugging on his lapel and touching him more than necessary. Smooths out the front of his suit when he’s done.

Alex looks up at him with those eyes, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and George can’t help but return it. They still have a lot to talk about - a lot to work out. And, hell, still two more years to go. It’ll be worth it, though. If Alex wants to stay. George pats him lightly on the waist before stepping out of the wings and crossing the small stage.

They’re on their way back to their respective cars after the service when it happens. Flanked by eight Secret Service agents, and yet it _still_ happens.

Alex is playfully bumping into him as they walk. Not saying a word, but his meaning clear. Whatever dark place he was in last week - it’s passed, at least for now. He’s OK. They’re OK. George puts his hand high up on his back - never touches him lower than his shoulder blades, not in public. Alex smiles up at George, leans in to whisper something in his ear, and then -

It sounds like a firecracker. Then another, and another. George’s entire body goes numb, like ice has replaced the blood in his veins. Can’t even process where it’s coming from. Then, two of the agents spring forward at once, and one shoves him down - hard. He grabs hold of Alex on instinct, dragging his boy to the ground with him. But he falls harder than intended - can almost feel the breath knocked out of Alex’s lungs when he lands on top of him. _Knows_ he hears the sharp crack when the back of Alex’s head bounces off the concrete like a basketball.

Alex is limp and unresponsive beneath him, blood pooling and soaking his hair. George cradles his head before his brain can tell his hands to _stop, don’t touch._ Distantly, he realizes the second agent - the one he thought was jumping toward him - is on the ground, too. Unmoving. Not five feet away from them. A body on the street.

It takes George - he doesn’t know how long. Could be seconds, minutes, hours - a moment. Takes him a moment to notice another wet stain forming through Alex’s suit, just above his right hip.

When he’s pulled away, he doesn’t fight. Doesn’t have it in him. Watches more men descend on Alex’s body like he’s roadkill and they’re the vultures.

Two agents pat him down in the back of the car and ask him a series of questions he manages to answer to their satisfaction. He doesn’t quite feel like he’s in possession of his own body, not really. Not until he looks down at his suit and sees bloodstains over his lap. The American flag Alex had carefully pinned to his suit, not even an hour ago, hanging lopsided.

“I want to see my Chief of Staff,” George says. Quiet.

“Mr. President, we’re taking you out of the city,” Gibbs says, to his right. Gibbs has been with him since the beginning of his first term, promoted to director of the Secret Service before his second, knows more than anyone in this damned car why he _needs_ to see Alex.

George turns, looks Gibbs in the eye. He needs to know he means it.

“Mr. Gibbs, I’m the President of the United States. I don’t care if you have to section off the entire goddamn hospital. I’m going to be with my boy.”

Gibbs sets his jaw. Hesitates, then nods.

“We’ll need backup at Georgetown,” Gibbs says into his shirtsleeve. “Change of plans. Taking the General to see Lion.”

 

* * *

 

Eliza’s already at the ER when he arrives, face blotchy and eye makeup smudged. She all but gasps when she sees George, catapulting herself into his arms and shuddering against his chest.

He learns Alex is already in surgery - one bullet to his right side, narrowly missing his liver in favor of fracturing a rib. The doctors couldn’t promise anything, Eliza says, couldn’t completely assess the damage until opening him up in the operating room.

“Are you all right?” Eliza whispers in his ear, sniffling. George pulls her a little closer, squeezes her shoulder. Martha’s under lockdown, Alex is in surgery. They have no other choice but to lean on each other. “You’ve barely said a word.”

And George’s agents are restless. He knows it’s only a matter of time before Gibbs is going to try to force him back out to the car - he knows it’s the right thing to do, too. Knows it’s for his own good. His own safety. But he’ll die before he leaves this hospital without Alex.

“I will be,” George answers. “Once I see him.”

 

* * *

 

George doesn’t cry until he sees Alex in the recovery room. And then it’s full body shakes and shudders. Eliza, already glued to his side, drops her forehead against his shoulder and just…breathes. Doesn’t have tears of her own left.

Alex looks so small in the hospital bed. Hooked up to at least five different machines, his head wrapped in bandages. George is afraid to touch him - he looks like he hurts everywhere. Probably does. He sits on the edge of the bed and settles for taking Alex’s hand and holding it in his lap, careful not to disturb his IV.

The surgery was a success, the doctors said, it’s his head they’re worried about, now. Won’t know for sure the extent of the damage until he’s awake. He could be confused for a few hours - that’s the most likely outcome, although it could be worse. George tries not to think about that - tries not to think about what that would do to Alex, if he woke up and his brilliant mind was altered in any way.

Martha is finally cleared to leave, so Eliza races to meet her at the surgery center’s back entrance. George stays, running his thumb over Alex’s knuckles, praying to a God he’s not sure he can even believe in if Alex doesn’t pull through this, and then - Alex’s hand twitches.

“Alex, sweetheart,” he calls out, fresh tears silently starting to roll down his cheeks, again. He squeezes Alex’s hand - harder than he should. And then - his eyes snap open. Stares at George for a beat, and then -

“Taking a bullet for you was never part of the job description.”

George sniffles, laughs, cries - all at once. And that sets Alex off, too. It kills George that he can’t actually hold him when he’s like this, has to settle for squeezing the hell out of his hand, instead.

“You didn’t get hit?” Alex finally says, turning his head to wipe one side of his soaked face on his pillow. “You’re OK?”

George reaches his hand up and thumbs away the tears on the other side of his face. “I’m not hurt. Alex, I - ”

“I don’t want to do that ‘take a break for a couple years’ bullshit,” Alex interrupts, voice hoarse from the breathing tube they removed not even an hour ago. “I don’t care if it’s hard, or if it takes more work. I don’t even care if it’s what’s best for us. You’re stuck with me.”

George blinks, taken aback. “Alex?”

“That’s what I wanted to say to you. When we were walking back to the car after Mercer’s funeral. The words were right there, too, and then suddenly I have a bullet in my fucking ribcage. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”

George lets out a choked laugh, wipes his own eyes with the heel of his hand. “Alex.”

“Are you incapable of saying anything else right now, old man?” Alex says, clearing his throat as his voice starts to give out. George can tell he’s losing steam - will probably be out again soon. George makes a mental note to have Eliza grab the doctor as soon as she’s back.

He’s not going to leave Alex’s side anytime soon.

 

* * *

 

**Also for the Quid Pro Quo verse:**

[Dry Spell](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6366067)

[Destinations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6293752)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, if you'd like to say hi!


End file.
